21st Century Cure Act 1
by WrongFromGo
Summary: It's quick. It's clean. It's pure.  Shilo/Graverobber, set before the Opera. I rate for a reason- not a happy fluffy bunny story. PLEASE read the warnings inside before reading this story as it gets worse from here.
1. Chapter 1

Title: 21st Century Cure  
Chapter: 1  
Genre: Fanfiction, Repo! The Genetic Opera  
Rating: Gods only knows- Absolutely NC-17, we'll see how much worse. Gore, blood, sex (of course there's sex) and possible blasphemy, depending on your views on the dead. Corpses as mattresses, blood dripping from the streets- so on, so forth.  
Summary: Would you change who you are if you could?  
Disclaimer: I own nothing except a brain that is hardwired for tragedy, trauma and incredible filth. For legal purposes- assume Shilo turned 18 last week. As always, let's just blame James.

_I wish I knew how or why I got here. I shouldn't be here. I should be safe in my room, tucked into bed, watching the world outside my window. Instead there's sirens going off, and a long hard fingers wrapped around my wrist, dragging me through this filthy city- __**again.**__ This always happens, always, always, always. I don't even know his fucking name, I don't know where he lives. I just know that stumbling through alleys filled with human trash, and graveyards full of shattered stones with the dead man's hand in mine feels more like life than anything I've ever known..._

Of course he'd nearly gotten them caught. He was the Grave Robber, and no one ever really accused him of being subtle, or even sane. Maybe throwing a handful of dessicated eyes into the Geneco security squad's faces wasn't the brightest thing he could have done. He cursed under his breath and swung left, heading like a fleeing rabbit for the warren of graves that made up so much of the city. Shilo stumbled and nearly fell, and he heard her breath sobbing in and out of her lungs.

"Just a little further, kid. Come on!" he tugged harder at her wrist and she fell against his back, tangling her hands in the fringe of his long coat. He could feel the heat of her slender body burning through the heavy fabric. He dragged her into the shadow of a mausoleum, pulling her in against his body and smothering the rasp of her breathing against his chest. Booted feet thundered past, shouts garbled by headsets echoing weirdly off the leaning stone monuments.

"I'm okay," she whispered hoarsely, pulling back a little. Her face shone like a star in the darkness, and he quickly pulled her back into the concealing shadows of his shoulder.

"We have to hide," he hissed in her ear, feeling the tremble that slid through her. "They'll come back this way."

"In there?" She moved enough to indicate a narrow crack of deeper black highlighting the rusted iron doors of a nearby tomb. He nodded, and they moved as one from shadow to shadow until he could push his shoulder against the heavy metal vines and thorns. It shifted under his weight with a sibilant hiss, and Shilo slipped ahead of him.

Now he was the one clutching at her, her narrow shoulders under his hands as she stumbled and felt her way carefully down a narrow flight of stairs. There was a wavering crimson glow somewhere ahead, and she hesitated. He pressed against her and she hurried forward. The light strengthened abruptly, and lit a scene from a holocaust.

"Oh, God." Shilo's exclamation was choked and muffled behind her hands as she covered her face. Corpses in various stages of decay lay piled haphazardly in what had once been a dignified family vault, filling the small space with the scent of dust and corruption. The marble floor might have been white once, but now it was a flat, muddy maroon, glistening here and there with highlights the color of rubies. There was a rumble above their heads and they both flinched, looking up. Shadows passed across the drain high above them that let in the inconstant crimson light, and the sound of heavy machinery came distantly through the night.

"We're under one of the sanitation buildings," he murmured. She nodded, and shrank back against him as a trapdoor opened, spilling another deluge of cadavers down onto the pile. "They take what's usable, and leave the rest to rot."

"Uh-huh." Her voice was fainter then ever, and he felt her go suddenly slack against him. He caught her as she fell, easing her back against the wall as her eyes rolled white and her long eyelashes fluttered down. He cradled her head against him as he checked her pulse and gently patted her cheeks.

"Kid. hey kid, come on. Shy, wake up." He heard the panic in his own voice, choked it down into silence.

_Damn. Damndamndamn. Why did I bring her here? Haven't I done enough? Poor kid..._

He had no idea what drove him to her window night after night. he watched her silouhette as she moved behind the white curtains, cursed the dangerous iron spikes that guarded her balcony. He called her, and sometimes, she came. And every time she did, he drew her further from her safe, clean world into his hell of a life. He hated himself for it. He hated her more for allowing him to do it to her. Most of all, he hated seeing her like this, crumpled at his feet, a white rose tossed into the muck.

"Hang on, kid. I'll fix you up.. I've got the cure." He fumbled for his bag, fitting the little glass vial into the gun. He reached for her leg, sliding her skirt up to expose a length of moonlight-pale thigh. He hesitated, testing the resilence of the flesh beneath his fingertips, and her hand closed over his.

"Don't." Dark eyes burned into his, pinpoints of amber light at the puils. "That's not what I want." She pushed his hand away.

"What do you want?" Irrational anger seized him. "A cure? I've got your cure, kid, right here." He waved the gun at her, thrust his hand into his bag and spilled glowing blue vials across her lap. "All the cure you could ever want. And you don't even have to pay me for it."

"I don't want another cure, Grave Robber." A sudden flicker of a smile curved her lips, and she bowed her head. Her dark hair fell across her face. "I don't want any more dead things inside of me."

"Well that's what I do." He started to fling himself away, but found her hand caught in his hair. She dragged his gaze back to her face.

"I said I didn't want any more dead things inside me," she repeated quietly. "You're not dead."

"Aren't I?" He laughed, catching her by the shoulders and pushing her roughly back against the wall, forcing her up on to her feet. He loomed over her, looking down into her pale face. Flower petal lips, clear eyes like stars behind black glass. Her skin felt like satin. He could feel the heat of her again, a trembling line of fire down the front of his body. "How would you know, little girl?"

"Prove me wrong." There was nothing little girl in her voice, or in the flare of defiance in her eyes. She pressed against his hands, rose on tiptoe to speak with her lips brushing his scowling face. "Show me how dead you are, Grave Robber. Prove me wrong, tell me you don't feel anything." Her hands found their way under his coat, skated down his chest. He could feel the scrape of her nails through his shirt, feel the sudden snap as she yanked on his belt.

"You're playing a dangerous game." He growled at her, catching her wrists in one hand. He forced them above her head, feeling the delicate bones grind deliciously under his grip. She laughed, low and soft, and arched her back, bringing her body into contact with his. He felt it like a jolt of purest Z, a tingling rush that left him lightheaded and glowing. "You have no idea what you're asking for."

"I want my cure, Grave Robber. I want that little shot that makes everything all better." One long leg insinuated itself between his, and he closed his eyes as her knee skimmed the inside of his thigh, pressed gently against softer things. "Don't make me beg."

"I might like that," he confessed, slamming her back against the stones, burying his face in the curve of her neck. His teeth set into her flesh, drawing a strangled moan from her throat. "You, on your knees. On your back!" He yanked her down, spilling her onto the filthy marble, her thighs splayed over his.

"So do it, then." Shilo sat up again, forcing him back on his heels. Her eyes glittered feverishly. She smiled, and then her face disappeared behind a flash of black fabric. She dropped her dress over his shoulder, leaning into his chest. "Tell me you want to say no."

"No." His mouth grazed the curve of her breast, caught a tender nipple and drew blood. She screamed for him, digging her fingers into his shoulders. He threw her away from him, sending her sprawling in a pile of withered body parts and congealing blood. She looked up at him as he got to his feet, unafraid. He could see the marks his teeth had left, purple and red, a serrated brand on her pure skin. Shadowy fingerprints on her thighs, her shoulders. Marked, branded, _his._

"No."

"Yes." Shilo scrambled to her feet, promptly stumbling on a dismembered hand. He moved instinctually forward to catch her. She met him halfway, fisting her hands in his hair and dragging his head down as she moved up, wrapping her legs around him. He had a choice- catch her or fall over. He caught her, filled his hands with the taut curves of her ass as her mouth raped him and drained his will. "Yess," she hissed in his ear, impatient hands fumbling with his clothing. He was halfway to coming already, and she hadn't even unzipped his fly. Her voice changed, soft and pleading. "Please?"

"Enough!" His shout echoed off the stone walls. He peeled her off him, set her on her own feet even as he dragged her mouth back to his. They struggled against each other as he fought his way out of his long coat and shirt, throwing them down on top of her discarded dress. Her medication monitor beeped, and they ignored it, busily tangled in tongues and teeth and clutching hands. His hands curved around her leather-clad calves and she reached for the laces of her boots.

"Leave them." He grinned, feral and wicked, and slid his hands up her thighs. His fingers dug into her thighs until his fingernails drew blood. "I want you in leather. Tied up and whipped and crying for me."

"Do it." She twisted, stretched like a cat, presenting the curve of her buttocks to him. "Smack it. Dare you." She caught his hand, drew it up her thigh. He sighed when she pressed her cunt into his hand, wet and soft. His belt hissed as it slid free of his pants, cracked as it came down across her ass. She shrieked, her body jerking, and he felt the sudden gush o fher arousal on his fingers.

"You want to play rough?" He laughed, draping himself across her body.

"As rough as you want to," she retorted. "Fuck me, Grave Robber. You promised me a fix." He felt her little fingers slipping behind his fly, stroking him with maddening slowness. She shifted, blindly tracing his erection through his pants until she found his zipper and began inching it down.

"No more foreplay," he groaned. He flipped her, admiring the fan of her black hair against the wax-pale corpses below, the heavy-lidded eyes and kiss-bruised mouth. She reached for him and he forced her hands away, pinning her wrists above her head. He wanted her helpless and writhing underneath him.

She whimpered, her hips surging upwards to brush against his as he ripped at his clothing one-handed. His cock throbbed painfully, dripping scalding liquid across her belly as he bent to ravage her mouth again. So small, he dwarfed her. He liked that. He liked it better when the head of his dick slid against the slick wetness of her, when her body rocked against his. He felt the lips of her pussy furled against him, hot and soft as the lips above, before they slipped open and swallowed him down, balls-deep and aching with the relief of finally being inside her.

She closed her eyes, her head thrown back as her thighs trembled and quivered against his hips. "God, that's so good."

"Better than Z?" He laughed, pressed deeper, felt the quick flutter as he pushed against her cervix. "Tell me it's better than the glow, Shilo."

"Shut up and fuck me," she whispered back. "We both know you want to."

"Demanding little bitch." He thrust once, twice, and watched her eyes go wide and glassy, her skin flush. "So you enjoy being fucked on a pile of dead bodies, by a pimp and dealer, you little whore?"

"Yes," she hissed, her hands clenching into fists. She rocked beneath him, almost sobbing with frustration.

"You want more?" He slid slowly out, teasing her, teasing himself with the velvet soft cling of her flesh to his.

"Yes, damn you!" she screamed. He chuckled and drove home, covering her mouth with his own as he went to work, drinking down every whimper and shriek he could wring from her. She sruggled beneath the grip of his hands, fingers clutching at empty air as wrapped her legs around his waist. He tasted the tears that rushed down her cheeks as she cried out, convulsing under him. The sweet saltyness made him grit his teeth. He didn't want to lose this delicious heat that surrounded him. He whispered in her ears, telling her of the exquisite texture of her pussy around his cock, of the taste of her blood on his tongue.

"I could fuck you until you were broken," he muttered, fingers digging into her hips as he rode another of her convulsive peaks. "Take you home to Daddy in pieces, and let him know just what kind of slut his little girl really is."

"Break me, then." Shilo's teeth grazed his throat, sank into his collabone. A kitten-soft tongue soothed the bruise, licked away the sweat on his skin. "Just do it."

"One day, maybe." He trembled, realeasing her wrists so he could draw her up into him, wrap his arms around her slender body. He groaned. "Shilo..."

"I'm here. I'm here." Her hands smoothed along his spine, oddly gentle, urging him deeper. "Oh God..." He felt the sudden clutch of her body around his and let go, let her feverish hands and voice draw him over the edge. He felt the hot rush of his seed into her heard the shuddering moan the sensation drew from her. Spent, he collapsed, rolling to the side enough to avoid crushing her, his arms locked around her as his breathing returned to normal.

"We're filthy," Shilo said eventually. She nestled her head into his shoulder, and he stroked her hair absently. "And there's a hand on my ass that I'm pretty sure isn't yours."

He looked at her, bemused. Covered in blood- his, hers and the tacky dark fluids leaking from the dead, the bruises he had given her standing out like scars on her skin, she was beautiful. He knew he had to return her to her ivory tower, but he didn't want to. Fear frissioned through him at the realization that he wanted to keep her here, just like this, forever. Carefully, he rose from their charnel bed and extended his hand.

-

_He watched her pause at the mausoleum door, and look back over her shoulder at him. She was clean and dressed, any sign of their rough play hidden under her black dress. She smiled, her freshly painted lips a dark curve in the pale oval of her face, nad lifted her hand slightly in acknowledgment of his eyes on her. She slipped through the door and was gone._

He watched her window until the light went out, and then watched some more. He should leave. He should go away from here, forget the dancing silouhette behind the pristine curtains and iron balustrade, let her go back to her safe, secure little world. He was never coming back here again. He was letting her go. He turned away, and started down the street.

_**"Grave Robber."**___

He turned back, looked up. She hovered above him, pressed against the wicked spires of the iron fence, and something white fluttered from her fingers towards him. He stepped forward, caught it. She blew him a kiss and vanished. He fingered the tiny white rose that she had thrown him, filling his head wih the haunting perfume. A thorn pierced his thumb, drew blood. He looked down at his hand and smiled.

Damn her.. 


	2. Chapter 2

Title: 21st Century Cure  
Chapter: 1  
Genre: Fanfiction, Repo! The Genetic Opera  
Rating: Gods only knows- Absolutely NC-17, we'll see how much worse. Gore, blood, sex (of course there's sex) and possible blasphemy, depending on your views on the dead. Corpses as mattresses, blood dripping from the streets- so on, so forth.  
Summary: Would you change who you are if you could?  
Disclaimer: I own nothing except a brain that is hardwired for tragedy, trauma and incredible filth. For legal purposes- assume Shilo turned 18 last week. As always, let's just blame James.

_There's a man outside my window. A criminal, quite possibly a sociopath. He's standing out there in the dark, and he's watching me. I should be afraid, but all I can feel is the phantom touch of his hands on my skin, and his cock so deep inside it feels like it's piercing my heart._

There's a man outside my window. I want him to come inside.

The patter of small stones against the glass drew Shilo away from her magazine. She drew back the curtains, unsurprised to see the man hovering in alley across the way. She glanced towards the door, and then eased the window open, breathing in the thick, heavy air of the damp night.

"What?" She hissed, as the Grave Robber came to stand beneath her window. The light fell on his pale face, leaving dark hollows under his cheekbones and turning his eyes into pools of shadow.

"Come out and play?" he invited. His voice was smooth and vaguely threatening. "I haven't seen you in days."

"I'm locked in. I can't get out of my room."

"Daddy find out that the princess has been playing with the pauper?" he sneered. She shook her head.

"I don't know. He's barely speaking to me. He just said it was better- safer- for me to stay in here for a while."

"So you can't come down. Okay. I'll see you later."

Disheartened, Shilo watched him vanish into the dark. She closed the window finally, turning off the lights and throwing herself back onto the bed. Her hands wandered restlessly over her thin nightgown, plucking at the white fabric. Her blood hummed and boiled, and she moved fretfully against the pillows. One hand slid over her breast, and she sighed, closing her eyes and conjuring up someone else fingers, someone else's touch. Damn him for always making her feel like this.

She distantly heard the rip of fabric as her hand tugged the gown up and over her head. She tossed it away, and spread her trembling fingers over her stomach. Slowly they slid up, until they traced over the fading marks of teeth surrounding her nipple. She brushed her nails over the scabs, thrilling at the whisper-thin slice of remembered pain. She murmured something incoherent, her other hand slipping into the moist darkness between her thighs. A flick of her fingers set the nerves buzzing like a hive of angry bees, and she lifted them to her lips to lick away the taste of herself.

"So, is this what you do when I'm not around?"

The voice was so soft she could have imagined it, if it weren't for the warm breath that stirred the fine hairs along her nape. She stifled a cry and bolted upright, her wide eyes fastened on the shadowy figure kneeling at the edge of her bed.

"How did you get in here?" Her voice sounded harsh to her own ears, but the Grave Robber just laughed.

"Carefully."

"If my father finds you in here..."

"Well, you'll just have to be very, very quiet, won't you?" One long finger brushed over her cheek and down her throat, coming to rest on her nipple. She whimpered in humiliation as her traitorous body reacted, the flesh rising into a taut, aching point under that innocent touch. His hands dipped lower, cupping her breasts and lifting them. They nestled into his grasp easily, and he smiled, testing the slight weight on his palms. Shilo blushed and squirmed.

"I know they're small."

"Yes..." His mouth swooped down over themed, tongue tracing the outer curves as his thumbs pressed and stroked over her nipples. Shilo whimpered and twisted beneath him. He paused, placing his fingers over her lips. "Quiet now."

She subsided under his hands, and he lowered his head again, stroking her breasts with lips and hands. His long hair pooled on her belly, and she tangled her fingers in it, drawing a mutter of protest from him as she tugged him lower still. When he flicked his tongue over the tight black curls sheltering her mons, she groaned. She felt his smile curve against her thigh as he nudged her thighs apart.

It took about thirty seconds. His tongue touched her clit as his long fingers slid inside of her and she shattered, coming apart in his hands like some delicious sticky confection, saturating his skin with hot, slick sweetness. He lapped at her, drawing stifled moans and whispered curses from her until her finally lifted his head. She fell back against the pillows, her eyes unfocused and breathing ragged.

"Miss me?" Cool lips touched her forehead, then her cheek. "Or should I leave?"

"Stay." Shilo's hand slipped into his, clutching. "Stay with me. Please"

"Since you ask so nicely." Cold hands slid around her waist, lifting her effortlessly into his lap. She always forgot how strong he was, until he did something like move her around like a child's doll. She curled into his arms like a cat, feeling the roughness of denim and leather against her naked skin, absorbing the scent that was uniquely his- part grave dust, part spice, and part male lust, laced with just a hint of desperation. His heart beat under her cheek, just a little fast.

His hands wandered across her skin, lingering on the fading marks his hands and mouth had left on her. He dragged a nail across the thin red welt that curled over her hip like a lover's touch and she shuddered.

"So soft." His eyes were distant and unfocused. "Everything about you is so soft." He set her away from him, tugging the tangled sheets up to cover her breasts. "I should go."

"Why?" She looked up at him, and he smiled bitterly. She looked like a vestal virgin, surrounded by the luminous sea of white sheets. Her hair trailed over her shoulders in thick inky rivers. He touched her face lightly, tracing the arch of her eyebrows, the satin scraps of her eyelashes. He could still taste the salt and honey of her on his lips.

"It's late. You should be sleeping." He turned away, back towards the windows.

"I've never seen you naked."

The non sequitor startled him, made him turn back. She spread her hands and laughed. He relaxed back into his usual grim amusement, waiting to see where she would take the game.

"We've never had that much time."

"Afraid to let me see your scars, Grave Robber?" He shrugged out of his coat and stripped off his shirt in answer. She pushed herself further upright as he came back to sit on the mattress beside her. His boots made a muffled thump on the carpet. He hesitated, his hands on his belt, and Shilo brushed his hands away impatiently. He raised his hands and laced them behind his head, watching her with a mocking grin.

"Stripping away my secrets, kid?"

"Something like that." She shoved and he shifted, then stepped out of the heavy denim. "Come here." "Come where?" Her fingers danced along his hip and he sucked in a hissing breath. "All over your pretty face? On those sweet little breasts?"

Shilo ignored his taunts, tracing the long twisted scar that ran the length of his thigh. She leaned into him, tongue darting out to taste the roughened surface, and he swayed. She watched him from under her long lashes as she moved her mouth slowly over him, sucking and biting at the puckered flesh.

"Knife. In a... oh God... fight." His turn to sound breathy and disoriented. She turned her head, brushing his erection with her fingers, fondling his balls with feather-light fingertips. Her mouth found another scar, just below his navel. His cock bobbed, sliding along her cheek and leaving a glistening trail of precome on her skin.

"Surgery." He gasped, clutching at her head. "Shy... just..."

"This?"

Her mouth slid over him, silken lips and the graze of teeth. He collapsed forward, catching himself with his hands on her bed, her body pinned by his weight. She wrapped her arms loosely around his thighs and looked at him up the long line of his body, her tongue stroking him as he stared back at her.

"Up," he demanded roughly. He pushed himself away from her consuming mouth, pulling at her impatiently. She rose slowly, her body sliding up his, trapping his erection against the smoothness of her belly. Dazed, he bent and lifted her against him, tumbled her breathless and half-laughing onto the white sheets that looked grey and dull against her skin. He followed her down, catching her face in his hands and dragging her mouth back to his. He felt drugged, drunk. She smoothed sweaty strands of hair off his cheeks and murmured words he never heard, absorbed as he was in finding the perfect alignment of flesh and bone that would put him... there.

She closed her eyes and sighed. Heat trickled through her, into him, and wrapped them in a cocoon of silence. For a moment they clung to each other, two lost children hiding from the bogeyman lurking under the bed. He would never admit that she felt like home, like a safe place to hide. She would never admit that he was her addiction, her drug of choice. They lied to each other often, and well.

They could pretend that all of this was about nothing more magical than his prick buried inside her tight body, or that her impulsive flights into his arms were nothing more than teenaged rebellion. Or they could just feel...

He gritted his teeth and forced himself away. As much as he loved being buried in the sodden silk of her cunt, he couldn't stay. Not without losing himself in the scent and taste of girl and sex. She made a tiny mewling sound and reached for him again, her smooth little hands finding his chest and resting over his heart.

"Don't go. Please." Her eyes undid him. He couldn't look at her any longer without giving in.

"Places to go, people to see, graves to rob, kid." He turned and started to reach for his pants and she sighed, collapsing back onto the pillows.

"Fine. I'll just amuse myself." Her fingers slid over her own skin, wandering the path his mouth had taken. He paused, mouth going dry as he watched her dainty fingers tiptoe down her sternum, linger around her navel. She drew circles on her belly, toyed with the curls his mouth had so recently dampened.

"Shilo..." his voice trailed off into a hoarse whisper as she looked at him, her skin flushed and rosy.

"What?" She smiled at him, her face so innocent, while her wicked fingers slid down further, parting the slick pink lips of her sex. "You asked if this is what I do when you're not around. Now you know."

"Fuck it." He started to reach for her and she slipped through his hands, rolling away with a muffled giggle.

"Oh no you don't. You can just wait your turn. I'm enjoying... myself." Two fingers plunged into her pussy and she sighed, her lashes drifting down, her color flushing even deeper. Her voice was breathy and soft. "You can watch, if you want."

He felt like his heart had migrated into his balls, leaving them throbbing and swollen. Carefully he adjusted himself, hissing at the feel of his own hand against his overly sensitized cock. "I'd rather do."

"Tough." Shilo put her free hand over her breast, toying with the nipple lazily. He growled at her and she stuck out her tongue. Her hips surged minutely against her hand as she found a rhythm she liked.

Groaning, Grave Robber gave in, resting his back against the heavy carved post behind him. He managed to smirk at her as he wrapped a hand around his erection, stroking himself slowly while his eyes feasted on her glowing skin. She hummed her approval, her own gaze on his actions.

"Show me," he invited. "And I'll show you."

Her smile was sweeter than sin, and she shifted, her thighs spreading further. He rumbled deep in his chest, appreciating the new view and turned to face her fully, letting his other hand come down and cradle his testes. He rolled them in his palm and she chuckled, her thumb digging into the sensitive spot just above her clit. Her moisture gleamed on her fingers as he swiped his thumb across the head of his prick, spreading the slick pre-come down the shaft.

He stroked and she rubbed, their respective sighs mingling. The dark seemed to pull in closer, leaving them in a bubble of fading moonlight and the heady sweet scent of sex. Both of them were close, trembling on the edge of madness when heavy footsteps on the stairs broke them from their trance.

"Oh, shit!" Shilo moaned, yanking at the blankets to cover herself. "Quick, hide!"

"Where?" he hissed back, already scrambling for his clothing.

"No time. Get in here?" she gathered the dust ruffle and motioned him under the bed. He glared at her but slipped into the dusty shadows. His cock was still so hard it hurt, but there was no way he was going to get caught naked in the Repo Man's little girl's bed. He wasn't that crazy.

"Shilo?" Nathan's voice came from outside the door, soft and concerned. "Are you asleep?"

"Hmm? What is it Dad?" She was a damn good actress, he thought. She sounded genuinely sleepy, awakened form her dreams by Daddy dearest.

"I thought I saw your window open when I came in. Are you sure you're okay, sweetheart?"

"I'm fine, Dad. Must've been a trick of the light." Shilo yawned loudly. "Can I go back to bed now?" Grave Robber smirked to himself, thinking of all the things he wanted to do to her in that bed. He heard her shift restlessly under the covers, and his dick pulsed, leaking hot and thick fluid onto his stomach.

"Did you take your medicine?"

"Yes Dad." Shilo's voice went heavy with exasperation. "I'm really tired Dad."

"Okay, sweetheart. I love you."

"Love you too. Good night."

"Good night." They listened to his footsteps retreat down the hall and Shilo breathed out a sigh of relief.

"That was- oh, God!" she hissed, as he rolled out from underneath the bed and grabbed her, dragging her across the mattress to him.

"Not even close, Shi." His mouth caught hers, devouring her protests, silencing any more of her teasing banter. They sprawled haphazardly across the bed, his long legs tangled with hers, her hands wrapped in his hair so tight that he winced. "No more games." He nipped the words into her ear, teeth closing on the tender shell. She squirmed against him, and he groaned, shifting his hips until he could rub against her softness.

"Please..."

"Please what?"

"I need you."

"Where?" His fingers slid across her lower lip. "Here?"

"Inside." Her hips arched under his and he closed his eyes. He had no intention of coming all over her pretty white skin, but damn, she made it hard to keep his control. He moved his hand between them, adjusting himself, slipping just the first little inch inside. She twisted and thrashed, her voice a desperate chant in his ear. "Hurryhurryhurry."

"Take it slow," he whispered back, pinning her to the bed with his weight. He slid inside gradually, her spasming muscles alternately resisting and enveloping him. She murmured and sighed, straining against him.

This was what he wanted, to stay here, stretched out on clean white sheets with this girl taut and slick beneath him, her needy little sounds filling his head with thunder and his veins with fire. He kissed her forehead, her trembling eyelids, and moved just enough to rock her over the edge of oblivion. He swallowed her husky moan, his own growl of climax rumbling through them both. She relaxed under him, finally, and he shifted enough to keep from smothering her, but unwilling to pull away.

Shilo snuggled into the curve of his shoulder, her lips trailing across his collarbone. She yawned, and he smiled into the dark, stroking her hair gently as she drifted off.

"Love you," she muttered into his skin as she slipped into sleep, and he froze. He held her there in shock, listening to the sibilant whisper of her breath on his skin, trying on the fit of the words. Fear crept through him, tickling his bowels with icy fingers.

Eventually he rose, slipping her back under the sheets and blankets, smoothing the tangled hair away from her face. He got dressed in the dark and then lingered by the window, watching her in the first grey shades of dawn. He blew her a kiss before he slipped out and back into the shadows of the city.

*

_She looks innocent when she's asleep. Her thighs are still wet with me, with her, and she still looks like a virgin. I want to wake her up, kiss her goodbye, but she'll understand._

She understands more than I want her to.


	3. Chapter 3

**AS ALWAYS- Rated for a reason, more so in this chapter than any other. This is extremely graphic, and may be disturbing to some readers. PLease do not read if you are unable to handle extreme sexual violence. For those who do read- feel free to tell me what you think- I would appreciate the feedback!**

**A/N: These stories are not coming out in order. This one was supposed to take place just before the opera- you know when Amber is talking about going to get cut for the show? Yeah, right in there. Now it's twisted, and so I'm going to set this right after the opera. Right at the very last little clip, where GR is talking about tiny pine boxes, and Amber slides past almost off-screen, after the fix that only he can give her. I promise that once I get all of them out, I will go back through, edit and reorder them properly, but right now, the order they get written in is the order I post in.**

_I haven't seen her in weeks, maybe a month. I don't care. Can't afford to. She's a sweet kid, was a good fuck. That's all it was, and I can find the second half of that anywhere. Speaking of good fucks- look what the cat dragged in. Amber fucking Sweet, and I can tell she's ready for another hit. Her car is idling at the end of the alley, and her eyes have that desperate, haunted glow I've seen so many times before. She'll do anything for what's in my pockets, and right now, anything is just what I need._

Sometimes, I almost love my job.

"Give it to me," Amber snapped, flinging a thick wad of money at him. He ignored the bills, letting them scatter around his feet, his sensual mouth quirked into a smirk. She hated it when he did that- it made her feel like the mouse who realizes too late that he's taken shelter in the cat's basket.

"I don't want your money." His voice was amused, his Arctic blue eyes sweeping over her.

"Nothing else is on offer," she retorted, folding her arms across her chest. She was head of Geneco now, not some pathetic wannabe star crawling through the filth looking for a fix. She wasn't the girl who he had fucked against a wall a few times, or had scraped her knees on the cement while she sucked his dick. She didn't need this anymore, really. She just wanted something to take the edge off, to give her a few hours of restful sleep. The only reason she came to him was because his Z was always pure, and always clean.

"I'll see you around, then." He actually turned his back on her, started to walk away. She scowled. No one turned their back on her, not now.

"Grave Robber!" He glanced at her over his shoulder, and she sighed. "What do you want?"

His lips twitched, curled into a smile that made her veins turn to ice.

"You."

She took him back to her place. One of her first acts as the new head of Geneco had been to move into an apartment of her own, a modest penthouse only three floors up from the street, in a nice neighborhood that catered to professionals. She thought it made her look more people-oriented, more normal. Less like the spoiled rich bitch everyone thought she was.

He wandered around the apartment, helping himself to a glass of Scotch, leaning against the floor to ceiling windows while she dismissed her bodyguards for the night, set the security codes, checked her messages and stripped out of her business suit. She came back from her bedroom to find him propped against the fireplace mantel, staring into the cold ashes and cradling his glass in his hands.

"Make yourself at home," she quipped. She was surprised that he hadn't already put her against a wall, gotten his rocks off, and left her achingly aroused and bruised, clutching nothing more than a glowing vial. That was the way it always went. She was even more surprised when he picked up a glass from the table beside him and handed it to her.

"What's this?" she asked suspiciously. He laughed, and the sound trembled down her spine.

"A drink. Try it, Amber. You'll like it."

She sipped it warily, tasting whisky and peaches and cranberry and something extra, something that sparked on her tongue. She shuddered and he laughed again, stepping forward and tracing a finger down the edge of her robe. She let him do it, her eyes on his as she took another sip. He'd laced it with Z. She knew it, didn't care.

"It's called a Royal Flush." He moved out of her line of sight, and his long fingers came down on her shoulders, gathering up her hair and moving it off her neck. His breath was warm on her skin, his lips leaving little tingles of pleasure in their wake as she spoke against her ear. "Appropriate, I thought."

"I didn't know you were a bartender." Her head was getting light, even as her body felt flushed and heavy.

"I've been a lot of things." His nimble fingers slid the sash of her robe free from the loops. He tested the silk in his hands, eying the wrought iron wall sconces across the room speculatively. "Finish your drink, Ms. Sweet. You're going to need it."

The menace in his tone made her react, made her knees quiver and her thighs clench tightly together. Obediently, she finished her drink and set the glass aside, turning to face him. He was standing in front of the windows again, hands behind his back as he studied the lights mounted on either side of them.

"Are these mounted into the concrete?" he asked suddenly, gesturing towards the elegant iron brackets. She shrugged, and he grinned wolfishly. "Better hope so."

She didn't have time to ask what he meant, because he turned on his heel and vanished down the hallway, into her bedroom. She waited, expecting him to call her. Instead, he returned, holding another length of silk in his hands. Another of her robe sashes. She raised an eyebrow, and he smirked.

"Strip." His eyes never left her face as she shrugged out of her robe, revealing the black lace bra and panties underneath. His eyes gleamed and he motioned her to stop. "Come here."

It was the drug that made her this pliant, she was sure. When he knotted the sashes around her wrists, she didn't even try to argue. She let him maneuver her as he pleased, stretching her arms up and out, tying the ends of the sashes to the light fixtures. Only when she realized that he had tied her so tightly that she was only inches away from the window did she realize what he was planning.

"No, Grave, please." She tugged futilely against the bonds, straining away from the windows.

"Say that again?" His hands were still cold when they came around to cup her breasts through the lace cups of her bra, tracing the delicate spider web pattern with his long index fingers. She watched their reflection in the glass, her pale skin and lush curves contrasting with the darkness of his clothes and hair.

"I said no." Her voice trembled.

"Not that part..."

"Please?"

"Ahhhh..." his breath ran out in a long sigh, and his fingers closed over her nipples cruelly, arching her back and drawing a shriek from her throat. It hurt, even through the hazy screen of the drug and the alcohol. "I like it when you say please."

"Please, don't do this here. People can see..."

"That's part of the fun, isn't it?" His frigid hands kept moving, trailing over her breasts, tickling down her ribs. His fingers dug into her hips, leaving red splotches on her skin. Her body twitched, rubbing against his as he played her like a violin.

"You know what?" he whispered against her throat, his teeth grazing her skin. "I think I want something a little bit- extra, this time." She sagged against the bonds, limp with pleasure and Zydrate, when he stepped away.

She heard the familiar hiss and slither of leather the moment before her own whip cracked against her ass, and she screamed for him. The Zydrate made the pain a distant thing, a line of fiery numbness where the whip had kissed.

"Pretty." The Graverobber contemplated the contrast of white skin, black lace, and red welt. "But not enough." Not nearly enough to help him erase what he wanted to from his mind. The whip made a sound like rain as it slid back across the polished wooden floor.

Shilo hadn't seen him in weeks. Not since the night he had snuck in her bedroom window and nearly gotten them caught.

She wandered around the city now, not exactly looking. If anyone had cared enough to ask, she would have told them she was just exploring the world. She'd been everywhere, it seemed- through a hundred graveyards, down busy avenues crowded with shoppers. She'd even walked all the way out to the ruined bridge that had once connected the city to the rest of the world, and seen the ocean swirling and splashing around the twisted wreckage of what used to be civilization.

Tonight she was window-watching. It fascinated her to see the things that people did. In the poverty stricken sections of town, children peered out with frightened eyes, pimps slapped whores, and tired workers sat at battered tables and bowed their head to pray over meager meals.

As the windows got richer, so did the variety. Cocktail parties in full swing, lovers lingering over a bottle of wine, families watching the latest popular movies. A beautiful woman pressed against the glass, her painted lips parted in a scream that could have been joy or pain, while a tall man with long, brightly-dyed hair sank his teeth into her shoulder...

Shilo froze; her breath caught in her throat, and sank back against the nearest wall. She knew that hair, those teeth. And she knew those breasts, barely restrained behind black lace, knew that sculptured face. She didn't feel the tears running down her cheeks. She stared, transfixed like a bird watching a snake.

She tasted like plastic and money and blood. It was one of the things he'd always liked about her, one of the reasons he'd let her fuck him for Z, when he turned down a dozen other Zydrate whores a day. She was sobbing now, more in humiliation than pain, although he used the whip on her until her panties were shredded and the first thin lines of blood had appeared on her bruised back and ass. He loved it.

He didn't talk to her now, just shoved his hand roughly into her pretty panties and fucked her with his fingers, pinching her clit when she tried to pull away, rubbing her g-spot when she pushed into his hand. She was wet- she was always wet when he got rough with her. His dick was hard, and he wanted to bury himself in her and pound her until he forgot everything but how good it felt to get his rocks off and walk away, and never think twice about how the girl felt the next day.

Amber hissed in protest when he ripped her panties off, moaned when he finally undid his pants and rammed into her. She swayed, and he was glad he'd had the forethought to tie her up. It was rough, and angry and just right for him. He felt the quick, hard flutter of her pussy as she started to come, and he went with it, pulling out just in time to cover her beautifully carved ass with jism. She shrieked as the semen stung the open cuts in her flesh.

Her skin gleamed with sweat, and her head fell forward. He chuckled, and slipped a knife from his pocket, unfolding the blade and cutting through the silk that bound her upright with nonchalance, whistling a Blind Mag song under his breath. She crumpled at his feet, and he looked down at her. She was red and white and bruised all over.

His cock was still hard, his balls still ached.

"Fuck." He swore bitterly, and Amber's bleary gaze finally lifted.

"You hurt me," she said. Her voice sounded bewildered and lost, like a little girl who didn't understand why Daddy just slapped her face. It just made him want more. Guilt flared in his stomach, and he shoved it away.

"I want to do it again," he growled, grabbing her by the wrists. He half-carried, half-dragged her to the sofa a few feet away, throwing her facedown over the backrest. It probably was starting to hurt her now- he hadn't dosed her drink with much. The thought made him harder.

The lack of lube wasn't something he was particularly worried about between the blood and come on her skin there was enough slipperiness to keep him from peeling his dick like a banana when he fitted the head against her tightly puckered ass and pushed. She cried out and he grinned savagely. She started to struggle and he grabbed the back of her neck, forcing her back down, savoring the futile thrashing of her body underneath his, allowing his greater weight to hold her down and her own movements to work her further back onto him, until he was halfway inside, surrounded by obscene heat.

She subsided suddenly and just started to scream, one long, ragged sound after another. Her breathing was starting to hitch, and he thought she was probably dangerously close to hyperventilating. Fumbling, he found the Zydrate gun and checked the load. There was plenty of glow left to send Ms. Sweet back into complicity.

She froze when he pressed the cold metal against her inner thigh. He laughed, leaning over the nip at her spine.

"Is this what you want?" He rubbed the gun back and forth along her thigh, teasing her. She whimpered pitifully, arching her back, rubbing her ass against him like a cat in heat. He closed his eyes against the increase in pressure around his cock, and slapped her left cheek. She shrieked, and he laughed. He eased the gun higher, slid it through the sloppy wetness of her labia and nudged them open.

"Nonononono..." he ignored her protests, pushing the gun inside her.

"Now you really are a whore for the glow," he told her, admiring the view. Her asshole stretched around his cock, already swollen and red from his rough penetration. His handprint stood out clearly, fiery crimson and hot to the touch. Her welted thighs quivered, and the splay of her lips around the barrel of the gun was almost elegant. "Damn, Amber. You look absolutely gorgeous like this."

Her reply sounded like a sob, and he took mercy on her. He thrust hard, burying himself inside her even as his finger eased back on the trigger, and he felt her body jerk in exquisite agony. Direct tissue injection sites always hurt like a bitch, but the rush was stronger, the ride longer. She went blessedly limp, and he could feel the tug and release of her muscles as she climaxed around both of them- him and his gun. He luxuriated in it, his hand moving rhythmically as he worked her through another peak or two. It didn't help him get off, but fuck, it felt good to have her body milking his cock the way it was.

_Why can't I look away? I should be disgusted, horrified. He's a monster- his face looks like it's been carved from stone, his eyes are so dead. I'm lucky._

I should go away. I don't want to see any more. I don't want to know any more. I know what he is now. I should run home and be glad that he never came back.

God, I wish I was her...

Amber choked and gagged as he held her head in his hands, forced her down on his dripping cock. She'd always given good head, and even higher than the moon, she knew enough to keep her teeth out of the way. He felt the flutter of her tongue against his shaft and almost purred in satisfaction.

She'd told him once, when she was spaced out and sprawled at his feet in the alley, that she'd learned at her father's knee- literally. Rotti may have been a sick bastard, and a monster- but he appreciated how well the daughter had been taught. She lapped at him like a kitten, her eyes unfocused and still leaking tears, and he groaned, fisting his hand in her hair as she licked her own juices from his skin.

His own gaze was starting to lose coherence around the edges, blurring the golden-lit room, melting Amber's carefully created features into a pale blur. Her eyelashes flicked up, and he no longer saw her violet orbs- instead her eyes were as black as the pits of hell, wide and terrified and innocent.

For just a moment, she had Shilo's eyes.

He pulled away even as he came, spattering Amber's face with come, the thick, pearly liquid dripping down onto her heavy breasts. She blinked at him, and his face was her own again, slack and uncomprehending.

"Fuck." He rubbed a hand over his face, absently scooping up Amber's discarded robe to wipe himself off. He tucked himself back into his pants and zipped up. The room reeked of sex and blood and sweat, and suddenly he had to leave. He looked at the woman crumpled at his feet, and felt a mingled rush of revulsion and regret. Almost apologetically, he lifted her from the floor and laid her on her side on the couch, draping her carefully with the soiled silk. She didn't speak, just rolled her pain-filled eyes to look up at him. She was white as a ghost where she wasn't bruised or splotched with red.

He felt guilty enough to dose her up again before he left,

He didn't notice the girl pressed back into the shadows when he passed. His hands were shoved down in his pockets, his eyes automatically scanning the streets, but he wasn't really seeing anything. If he'd been on his game, he might have heard the broken little sound that followed his passage.

_I haven't seen her in weeks. Maybe a month._

So why can't I forget yet?

Shilo made her way home slowly. It felt like there were broken pieces inside her chest, grinding against each other. Her mind was full of flashes of violence and blood, spliced with reels of memory. His hands cupping her breasts, his eyes rolled up to watch her face as his mouth danced over her flesh.

She shuddered. How could he be the man in her bed, and the man in Amber's window? Her head throbbed and she felt her stomach turn. Every preservation instinct she had told her to run, and just keep running.

_I've seen him for what he is, what he does. He's a monster. He'd rip me to pieces, leave me broken and bleeding just like he did Amber._

I've never wanted anything so much.


	4. Chapter 4

**AS ALWAYS- Rated for a reason, smut lies ahead. For those who do read- feel free to tell me what you think- I would appreciate the feedback!**

Title: 21st Century Cure- Act. 04

Genre: Fanfiction- Repo! The Genetic Opera. Selected bits from the lyrics of Parabelle, cookies to whoever identifies them.

Rating: I rate everything NC-17 OR HIGHER just to be safe. I'm not your normal little cookie, and it comes out in ink like poison on the page.

Pairing: Graverobber/Shilo

Disclaimer: I own nothing except the words rattling around my twisted little brain. All recognizable characters/plot points belong to Terrance and Darren and the Repo! crew. All lyrics are Kevin Matisyn/Parabelle's.

****

WARNINGS: I am hardwired for tragic, erotic, sometimes frighteningly dark story-telling. I seldom write anything that is less than an NC-17, never anything less than an R. MOST of my work is even heavier on any/all of the following material- sex consensual, coerced and completely nonconsensual, blood/gore, bizarre magical concepts, a stockpile of torture and horror developed from childhood, a strong background in BDSM and other kinky things, profanity, non-canon plotlines, complete disregard for social norms and niceties, and a strongly purple tint to my prose. I write any and all imaginable sexual pairings- and a few that I'm pretty sure are illegal, or would be if they were possible on this planet. Occasionally I'm in a humorous mood and Cthulu kin make an appearance. I'm also addicted to feedback, the more I get, the more I write.

A/N: I know, I know, gone forever. This will kick things back into gear for 21st Century Cure, but it was far too sexy an idea for me to pass by. Shilo and Graverobber, separately and together, tweak my tragedy hot button. I highly recommend you read ALL of the original chapters before you read this story, or you will be utterly lost.

Shilo stood on the crumbling, cracked pavement, looking out over the water. The waves were grey and midnight blue, dirty white where foam formed on the breakers. The wind ruffled through her hair, grown long and thick and wavy. It tangled in front of her face, whipping against her cheeks and throat. She shoved it back and sighed.

She'd been alone for over a year. No father in the hallways, guarding her every movement. No shadow in her alley, seducing her out into the night. No more bugs, no more dead mother under glass to haunt her. Amber had shown up one day, not long after the last time she had seen Graverobber, and made it clear that Shilo was going to be taken care of. The lights stayed on, groceries were delivered every week. An allowance went into an account every month. The only thing Shilo had to do was stay out of the way, and she tried.

She painted, sometimes. Sometimes, she sang as she taught herself to cook, filling the house with echoes of her godmother's music. She cleaned out the house, threw open the windows and filled the house with the occasional dirty sunlight, the cold wind from the graveyard. She liked being alone, for the most part. Alone, and free.

She hugged her coat closer around her, cuddling the fluffed faux fur fringe around her face. It was sheer vanity, the black denim that brushed her calves, clung tight to her slender frame. She had bought it because it reminded her of him. She came here for the same reason- to lean out over the edge of the world and feel a shadow of the thrill he had been.

She blinked against the thought, tried to pretend that it was just the wind that made her eyes sting and blur. He was gone, and she refused to allow herself to miss him. She refused to allow herself to think about him- except on nights like this, when the moon curved through the sky like a razor's edge and the wind sighed like a lost thing through her blood.

She closed her eyes and leaned into the wind, spreading her arms and wishing for wings.

The coffee in front of him was cold. He turned the mug around and around in his hands, looking into the oily black depths and trying to decide what was wrong. His skin felt uncomfortable- hot and achy, tight around his eyes. He'd blown off his usual rounds, opting out of the endless parade of junkies and graves in favor of the meager warmth of a diner. He watched people pass by the dirty windows and occasionally signaled the bored waitress for a refill.

He'd been thinking of the kid again. Something about the bite of the wind and the sullen clouds had shoved her into his thoughts, and nothing he did could put her back into the closet with all the other skeletons. He took another swallow of his cold coffee, savoring the bitterness. Smoke curled from the crumpled butt in the ashtray. He normally didn't indulge in the vice- too expensive, and this city would blacken your lungs soon enough without the help. But tonight he wanted the burn of the smoke, the acrid taste of ashes on his tongue.

It didn't help. The coffee was still the color of her eyes, deep enough to drown in, and not bitter enough to drive the memory of her taste out of his mouth. The flourescent light couldn't erase the shadows of her skin from his mind. He shoved at his hair, pushing the tangled waves back from his temples. He was haunted by a ghost- a living, breathing ghost, somewhere out there in the streets of the city.

"Damn." He was surprised at the sound of his own voice, hoarse and ragged in the relative silence. The waitress glanced up from her magazine as he shoved to his feet. He waved her off, tossing crumpled bills onto the counter and slamming out into the cold. His boots were old and well-worn, whispering rather than ringing on the pavement. He didn't think about the path his feet took- he had walked it often enough in his thoughts. He ended up across the street, staring at the high wrought iron fence that surrounded the tiny excuse for a yard.

The house was dark. He didn't expect it to be otherwise- it never was. He didn't even know if she was still living there- it had remained empty for weeks after the Opera. He'd stopped haunting it after a few months. She was probably dead in a gutter somewhere, but though he searched every graveyard, every mass dump of broken bodies, he never saw her face. Part of him hoped he never would. The rest of him wished for even that much closure.

He leaned against a streetlight, tugging his battered coat closer around his shoulders and fumbling in the pockets for a cigarette and lighter. It gave him something to do with his hands, an excuse to be standing here. He was hunched over the flame, blinded by the orange glow, when he heard the creak of rusted iron from the gate.

Shilo watched him from the shadow of the porch, still huddled in her concealing black coat. He bent over his cupped hands, and she studied his face in the flare of the lighter. He looked more ragged than she remembered, his cheekbones more pronounced, his eyes sunk deeper into the elegant sockets. He was still beautiful, in his own tragic way. He inhaled, drawing flame into the cigarette, and she came down the steps, pushing open the gate.

It was almost comical the way his head snapped up, his eyes flashing white. She crossed the street without looking, her mind blank. She had no idea what she was going to say to him. She couldn't find words, couldn't find her voice. He straightened, drawing himself up imperiously, and she smiled suddenly.

"Graverobber. What a surprise." She was thankful her voice didn't tremble. She felt disconnected, detached from the hand that reached out to take his cigarette from him. She held it for a moment, familiarizing herself once more with the angles of his tall body, the twist of his lips as he managed to come up with some semblance of a smile.

"Looking good, kid." He raised a hand, as though he'd touch her face, then let it drop. "Nice hair."

"You too." She flicked the wasted cigarette away and shoved her hands deep into the pockets of her coat. "You've lost weight." He shrugged, shaking back his crazily-colored hair.

"A little. Hard work, ya know?"

"Christ, this is banal." Angry at herself, at him, Shilo stepped forward, backing him against the metal of the lamp post. He looked down at her, his lips twitching in that infuriatingly cynical, jaded way he had. "Why don't you just tell me what you want?"

"Who says I want anything at all? Maybe I just wanted to see your pretty face, kid." He lifted his hand again and traced her lower lip with his thumb. "Catch up on old times."

"Wish I could say the same." Shilo's eyes sparked dark fire and she stepped back, turning on her heel. "See you around, Graverobber."

He followed without thinking, grabbing her arm, pulling her back. She moved with him easily, like this dance had been choreographed, as though she'd turned back into his arms a thousand times before. She made an exasperated noise and twisted her wrist out of his grasp, sliding past him like a shadow.

"Good night, Graves." She continued on towards the gate. He watched her move away from him, helplessly clenching and unclenching his fists. The fitful moon picked out blue highlights in her hair, traced the curve of her cheek in pewter. The gate swung closed and locked with a snap, and the brooding darkness of the house gathered her in with the tinest sigh of wood on wood.

Breaking into her house was easier the second time. Considering he didn't have to worry about being caught by a scalpel-slinging maniac this time around, it was pretty much a Sunday stroll. He hoisted himself over the railing to Shilo's balcony and jimmied the French windows, swinging them open carefully.

He had half-expected to find her curled up in her bed, waiting for him. Once upon a time, he could have counted on it. _Times change_, he thought, looking around the room.

Gone were the trappings of a sick little girl. The room was empty except for swathes of black material draped from the ceiling to the floor, and Graverobber whistled softly as he moved further into the room. His own face peered out at him from the shadows, cunning and cruel, etched onto the heavy fabric with skillful strokes of silvery shadow and vibrant blue eyes.

"Good likeness," he mused, pacing around the painting. Mag was there, a caged bird with her head thrown back in song, eyes shimmering with metallic gold, her lips open and ruby blood spilling down her chin. Amber, Rotti, Nathan in and out of his RepoMan guise. Intricately detailed insects crawled along the margins of the paintings, half-seen in the dim light.

The girl obviously had talent. The drug dealer was confronted with his own image again, and felt a blush steal along his cheekbones. Apparently, she had a photographic memory as well. He admired her skill even as he shifted uncomfortably, letting his mind absorb the picture in front of him.

"Like what you see?" Shilo's voice was quiet. He turned to face her, shoving his hands into the pockets of his coat.

"Now I do," he returned. She leaned against the doorway, watching him with neutral eyes, her slender arms folded across her chest. She was dressed simply in faded, paint-smeared jeans and a clingy black sweater. His fingers itched to touch her hair, her luminous skin. "I wanted..."

"It's good to want things," Shilo interuppted. Turning on her heel, she walked out of the room. "I'm making tea."

He followed her without comment, admiring the easy way she navigated down the dark stairs in her bare feet, the tiny glints of gold and copper when the light from below caught in her hair. It was hard to reconcile the frightened girl with this calm, contained woman in front of him. His throat worked- maybe he'd made a mistake in coming here.

She turned at the bottom of the stairs and he felt his breath leave in a rush. Her eyes were the same- dark as the bottom of a well and just as liquid, full of shadows and silences and secrets. He touched her face, finally, feeling the warmth of her skin under his chilled fingertips. She shivered and started to pull away.

"Don't. Shy..." His hand slid under her hair and cupped her head, holding her in place as his mouth lowered to her cheek, breathing the words against her flesh, feeling her pulse speed beneath his touch. "Damn, how long has it been? Since we..."

"A very long time." Shilo's whisper was raw, broken. "If it was up to me, I'd never see you again." He trembled at her words, but didn't stop, burying his face in the clean, sweet scent of her hair and neck. It was a crime, a choice made. He couldn't regret it.

"Time waits for no one," he murmured, pressing his lips to her temple, the delicate arch of her eyebrows, the tip of her nose. "And we can't get it back."

"Then make it stand still." She surged against him, her arms twined around his neck. He growled at the sudden sting of her nails against his scalp. "If you're going to keep showing up like a bad penny, you'd damn well better make it worth my while."

He opened his mouth to speak and she stole the words, her lips soft and teeth sharp as she ripped through his sense like a knife. He was drowning in the bittersweet taste of her and the urgency of her hands on his skin. He wanted to tell her to slow down, but she just pushed him back, until he stumbled and fell backwards on the steps. He swore as his head connected with the wood, ringing bells in his ears and making him blink against the pain.

"Kid, wait, just..."

"Shut up, Graverobber." She straddled him, her mouth taking his again, her hips grinding against his. He almost smiled when she flicked his belt open with one hand, cursed instead when she ripped his fly open and grasped his cock. His spine arched as she stroked him, his head falling back with another muffled thump on the uncomfortable staircase. Her palm was warm and smooth, the fingers cooler and slightly rough. It felt like heaven.

His fingers dug into the curve of her waist, and he struggled for composure, holding her still for a moment. He looked up at her, haloed by the dim amber light, and his throat when dry.

"You're beautiful," he muttered, lifting himself enough to bury his face in the darkness of her sweater, the intoxicating scent of her skin. She made a small sound and he turned his head, nuzzling the curve of her breast through the soft fabric. His palms skimmed up her sides, pushing the sweater up until he had to lift his face to tug it over her head. He tossed it to the side and pulled her back.

"Graverobber." Shilo tugged at him, her voice almost angry. He hushed her with his mouth on her skin, stole her anger in little nibbling bites. She subsided with a shudder, and he chuckled against her skin. Times change, but some things stay the same.

He shoved and twisted, dragging her out of her clothes between touches. She fought back with her own impatience, shoving his pants down over his hips, making him moan when she flicked her nails across his skin and sank her teeth lightly into his shoulder. He wanted her underneath him. She had other ideas, pushing him back and grinding against him, trapping his cock between their bodies and sliding along his length until he was slick with her juices.

She was going to kill him. He gritted his teeth against the overload of sensation, fighting her for the control she had once given him automatically. His hands tightened on her hips and he lifted her, growling when she tried to pull away.

"You started it... finish it, damn you." He felt more than heard her laughter, and her nimble fingers slid along his length on final time, adjusting their positions. He tensed himself for the inevitable slow slide of her around him, the memory of her tight, wet sheath already burned into his mind. He wasn't prepared for her to drive the breath out of him with one swift thrust, impaling him as deep as possible inside her cunt.

The reaction was immediate, her body convulsing around his almost painfully as her head fell back. Her hair brushed his thighs in flickering, fiery lashes as she rocked and twisted silently over him, dragging his voice in a hoarse cry of agonized ecstacy. One good hard touch, that was all it had taken, and they were both done, his release scalding her on the inside, her nails drawing blood from his hips on the outside. His vision blurred, spangled with light around the edges, and he caught her automatically as she went limp, collapsing onto his chest.

He held her as his heartbeat stuttered, then steadied into the same shythm as hers. For the first time in a year he felt at peace, despite the biting ache of the steps beneath his back, the uncomfortable throb in his balls from the intense orgasm. Her hand found his, and she held them to her breast, threading her fingers through his. He felt the first hot spill of her tears against his shoulder and tightened his grip.

"Easy, kid," he murmured into her hair, his voice tender and gravelled. "It's going to be okay." He hesitated, then pressed his lips to her temple. "It's okay, Shilo. You belong to me."

****

Awww... wasn't that sweet? *snorts* Well, yes. But this is me writing, so don't count on it staying sweet. It's never what it seems...


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